


Restart

by greenet



Series: Fight for the Opera! [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Arts festival AU, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-28
Updated: 2014-02-28
Packaged: 2018-01-14 02:36:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1249597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenet/pseuds/greenet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's hard work, putting together a festival. Just ask Grantaire.</p><p>"If I have to rewatch eighty-seven terrible, <i>terrible</i> movies, I'm not doing it without beer," Grantaire announced, and then placed his shopping bag on the kitchen table with an audible clink of bottles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> chronologically ahead of Little Lights.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would be easier if Enjolras was less... Enjolras.
> 
> Most of his university life to date would be easier if Enjolras was less Enjolras.

"Now, let's talk about the budget," Enjolras began, and Grantaire eyed the door longingly. As the eccentric artist alibi of the festival committee, he felt that he should definitely be allowed to escape any and all discussions about money. Enjolras, however, disagreed. Everybody had to be involved in everything, otherwise they wouldn't _truly_ feel like the festival belonged to them. So Grantaire was stuck. He sighed and started doodling all over Combeferre's nice colour-coded schedule. Combeferre kept handing them a print-out every meeting in the apparent belief that one day the schedule would actually be set in stone. Grantaire thought it impressively (and foolishly) optimistic.

Four hours -- or ten minutes, but it certainly _felt_ like four hours -- later, Enjolras finally moved on to something Grantaire was willing to pay attention to: the obligatory parties. He'd stopped watching people speak, letting the susurrus of voices float around him, but Bahorel helpfully elbowed him. They had a system. It mostly worked.

"Cosette's dad--" Marius began brightly, and Grantaire couldn't help the snicker at Enjolras' eyeroll. "has a venue for us!"

Combeferre narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Since he’d taken over the role as festival accountant, he’d become a stickler for finding out costs before committing to anything. "How much does he want for it?"

"Oh, it's free," Marius said. "I mean, for us. Because of Cosette. And me?"

Grantaire missed whatever Courfeyrac said to that, but assumed it was something dirty based on Marius's blushing, and Enjolras' headshake. He'd developed the admittedly bad habit of reflexively looking towards Enjolras whenever he missed anything because Enjolras didn't have anything resembling a poker face, and also looked whoever he was talking to straight in the eye. Jehan, on the other hand, was hopeless, as he tended to duck his head, and Joly had a habit of covering his mouth in horror, but mostly Grantaire could follow everybody just fine. So it was just a bad habit. And he should definitely stop it.

It would be easier if Enjolras was less... Enjolras.

Most of his university life to date would be easier if Enjolras was less Enjolras.

“All right, fine. Moving on to the programme… Joly, what are you working on?”

"La Boheme," Joly said, and Enjolras looked dubious. "No, but listen, we're going to do it in a new way!"

"We might actually get an audience," Courfeyrac said, pleased. He agreed that number of bodies through the door wasn’t necessarily the main goal of the festival, but it didn’t hurt either. And he was the one who had to quote the statistics at potential sponsors and donors. "Excellent work, Joly!"

"But isn't it a little... easy?"

"No," Joly said flatly. "And especially not when working around my schedule."

"Ah."

Both Joly and Combeferre had schedules from hell, but at least Combeferre didn’t have to be physically present as much as Joly did. 

“Who’re you casting?” Eponine asked. 

Joly exchanged a look with Bossuet. “Well, we thought maybe Musichetta would be willing…”

Grantaire grinned.

“All right,” Enjolras said. “Keep me updated, tell Combeferre how much money you need --”

“--I’m hoping no money at all, since, as usual, we haven’t got any,” Combeferre shot in. 

“--and go through the schedule once you get any idea of the thing. Now, Jehan, talk to me about the poetry programmes.”

“Right. Uh. I think it’s going fine so far?” Jehan said. He looked down at his phone, and Grantaire missed most of what he said after that, so he went back to doodling. He had absolutely nothing to do with the poetry programmes so it didn’t matter very much. 

Bahorel poked him, and Grantaire looked up in time to catch Enjolras’s dividing them into teams. “Marius, Eponine -- will you help Jehan sort through the dregs? Great. Um.” Enjolras looked uncertain, for him. “So if there’s anybody who wants me, I--”

“I’ll take you!” Grantaire said quickly, and then facepalmed as everybody around the table erupted into laughter. “Oh shut up all of you, you know what I meant!”

“Er. Okay, sure. It’ll be interesting.” Enjolras nodded. “Feuilly, Jehan, you’re still on?” They both nodded. Enjolras beamed. “Excellent! It’s starting to look like we might be getting this thing together!”

“Don’t jinx it,” Joly said quickly.

“I said might.”

“Well. Okay, then.” 


	2. Chapter 2

"Hey. Hey, Grantaire!"

Grantaire flinched at the sound, and stopped, turning towards Enjolras, tugging his green scarf as he did so. "That was incredibly loud, you know that?"

"Well, if you'd wear your hearing aids, I wouldn't have to yell so loudly to get your attention," Enjolras pointed out. He had his hands stuck in the pockets of his red coat and he was flushed from the cold. Grantaire thought he looked gorgeous. And a bit like he should probably consider investing in a new knit hat and scarf.

Courfeyrac, who’d followed along behind Enjolras, sighed and poked him hard in the shoulder.

"Ow! What?"

Courfeyrac gave him a look.

"Oh. Really?"

Courfeyrac lifted an eyebrow and nodded.

Grantaire watched them both, confused but fascinated.

Enjolras sighed, and turned to Grantaire. "Sorry for the yelling," he said. "...Even though I'm totally right about this."

Courfeyrac shook his head, actually threw up his hands in apparent despair of getting Enjolras to behave, and wandered off. Courfeyrac could be a little dramatic at times.

"What the hell was that all about?" Grantaire stared at Enjolras.

"It's... Apparently I tend to steamroll over people, and Courfeyrac has decided to take on the role as my conscience, or something. Apparently I can be..." Enjolras hesitated.

"A terrible human being?" Grantaire suggested, smirking.

Enjolras considered it. "I think that was what he was getting at, yes. So now he's trying to get me to consider people's _feelings_ before I speak."

The disconcerted expression on Enjolras' face made Grantaire laugh. "Well, don't worry. I have no feelings and appreciate your utter lack of subtlety. It's refreshing."

"Thanks. I think."

"So what did you want?"

"Oh, right. We finally decided we're going with the experimental video art in the foyer --"

"Jesus Christ, really?"

"--Because, as it turns out, Director Lamarque's daughter was involved in the making of the... one with the thing?"

Grantaire squinted at him. "There were a lot of films and they were all pretentious as fuck and they all had things," he said flatly. As the one in charge of weeding out the worst of their submissions, he knew this for a fact. He’d been drunk when Courfeyrac had talked him into that. Drunk, and too busy gazing at Enjolras to pay attention to Courfeyrac’s babbling until it was too late. It wasn’t that he minded watching short films, it was that he minded watching _terrible_ short films. "Too many of them in some cases."

"The time travel thing? I'm not entirely sure I understood it," Enjolras admitted. "But if I recall correctly, it was among the few you didn't hate after five seconds viewing."

"Time-- Ohh! Right, yes. I did hate that one slightly less than some," Grantaire admitted. "But I thought we were an independent festival who would deliver independent, outside of mainstream, art to the people without being constricted by or influenced by governments or big business politics?"

Enjolras gave him a surprised look. "I didn't know you listened to that speech."

"...You keep reminding us every other meeting, Enjolras."

"Well." Enjolras looked sheepish. "It's important."

Grantaire gave him what was probably a much too fond look in return. "Uh-huh."

"And Director Lamarque has been very good to us, but, of course, if you feel that artistically you can't support the choice, then obviously we won't--"

Grantaire waved him off. "No, I don't care."

" _Grantaire_." The edge of frustration to his voice was clear even to Grantaire. He seemed to bring it out of Enjolras without even trying.

"I mean, it doesn't upset my artistic sensibilities or whatever. It's not a groundbreaking film, but like you said, I didn't hate it." He shrugged. "It's fine."

Enjolras looked suspicious, but seemed to decide to take Grantaire's word for it. "Maybe next year we can do the Eastern European retrospective you've been talking about?" he offered as they started walking again. If Grantaire got a secret thrill out of walking so close to Enjolras, well, if Enjolras hadn't noticed it in the three years they'd known each other, he was hardly going to comment on it now.

"You remember that?"

"Of course," Enjolras said, startled. "I remember everything you say."

Grantaire gave him an equally startled rapid blinking in return. This was certainly news to him.

Enjolras flushed. "Well, it might be important. To the festival! So."

"Okay," Grantaire said slowly. He let Enjolras walk ahead of him for a moment, and pulled out his phone to text Courfeyrac a series of question marks figuring he'd be the closest to knowing what the hell was up with Enjolras today. He was being inexplicably nice, for him. After a moment, he sent the same text to Combeferre, then hurried to catch up with Enjolras again.

He didn't get any replies until they'd split up to go to different lectures. Courfeyrac sent him a row of vaguely suggestive smileys, which he should've expected, while Combeferre's said: _Is this about E? Bcuz I have no idea. Sometimes he just does things. Assume it makes sense to him. Also, still need receipt from train. ASAP._

NOT HELPFUL, he texted both of them.


	3. Chapter 3

"If I have to rewatch eighty-seven terrible, _terrible_ movies, I'm not doing it without beer," Grantaire announced, and then placed his shopping bag on the kitchen table with an audible clink of bottles.

"Seems fair," Jehan agreed, and swiftly stole a bottle before retreating to the couch.

Enjolras poked his head up from behind the tv where he was trying to connect the pc to the tv without fucking up their delicate system of tv, games, audio and bluray cables. He looked disapproving.

"Some of those films are twenty minutes long explorations into the concept of pixelated split screen nature documentaries," Feuilly pointed out. "Some of them have the sound fucked up on _purpose_. And I try to keep an open mind, but _seriously_."

Enjolras sighed. "All right, all right. Just, I still expect considered opinions on every film! This is important!"

"Yeah, yeah."

*

"Oooh, I remember this one!" Grantaire sat up straight. They were twenty films into their rewatch and so far they'd only agreed on four. "This is the kinky, weird, sex one!" He glanced over at the others, and noticed to his amusement that Jehan already had his hand over his eyes and had turned bright red. Enjolras looked puzzled, while Feuilly had his head tilted to the right, apparently trying interpret what they were seeing, or possibly trying to identify the soundtrack.

Grantaire wished him luck.

"Oh!" Enjolras said suddenly, two minutes in. Grantaire had been watching him, more than the movie, and saw when what they were watching finally dawned on Enjolras. "That's... That's really... I thought you were kink shaming, but you're right, this is just really weird."

"Yep. I _think_ the cows and the leather and the porn soundtrack is supposed to symbolize some kind of weird circle of life thing, but--" Grantaire paused to squint at the tv as the film started showing a couple fucking intercut with scenes of cows frolicking in a green field. The soundtrack kicked up the Oooh aaaahs a notch. "--This is just plain weird, even for me."

*

"Okay, is it just me or does this batch of films have a lot of sex?" Enjolras finally demanded to know, five films later. "Am I just projecting because I haven't got laid since before we started planning this festival, or?"

Grantaire snorted beer out of his nose and lost whatever Feuilly answered.

"I kind of like this one though," Jehan offered uncertainly. Jehan wasn't exactly shy, not around them, but Grantaire thought he felt a little out of his depth when it came to video art. Usually he waited for everybody else to give their opinions before he said anything. Grantaire wasn't surprised he liked this film though -- it was all softly lit close ups of hands touching bare skin and wide, adoring eyes. It was very romantic and tender.

"I don't hate it," Grantaire said. He didn't, but also he felt that Jehan should be encouraged.

"Great! Then we're including it," Enjolras said, entering it into Combeferre's spreadsheet of doom.

*

"Pizza," Feuilly demanded. "I refuse to watch anything else until there is pizza. I was promised pizza."

"Food," Jehan agreed, nodding vigorously.

"I guess we should take a break," Enjolras said.

"If I have to watch another badly rendered computer animation about the terrors of war, I will kill someone. It might be you," Grantaire said seriously. He'd ended up on the floor at some point during the last couple of movies and had to tilt his head back to watch them talk. It was exhausting. At least Combeferre's and Enjolras's soundsystem was excellent. He should've been wearing his hearing aids, but for a second culling of movies where he had a fairly good idea what he thought, he didn't bother. Enjolras probably didn't approve, but he hadn't said anything.

"Pizza it is then!"

The first five minute film they watched after the pizza had arrived, was a time lapse nature film. Utterly unexciting, but solid. They threw it in the maybe column. The next two, however, was more nakedness. They sat patiently through the first one, but the second one made Feuilly snort and cover his mouth as he laughed, while Jehan turned bright red again. Grantaire was dying to see Enjolras reaction, but wasn't entirely sure he dared.

The two men on the screen _weren't_ Grantaire and Enjolras, but even Grantaire had to admit the resemblance. The blond, beautiful Enjolras-character was a marble statue come to life, while the grubbier, dark haired Grantaire-character was an adoring Pygmalion, bodily worshipping the unfeeling man until he turned back into a statue.

When he finally glanced up, he was surprised to see Enjolras frowning unhappily. "No," he said, decisively, once the film ended.

"I don't know, it had a certain something," Feuilly said, amused. "Can't quite put my finger on it."

Enjolras glared.

"But then again, it's technically very... unfinished, and the sound is terrible. So sure, no, it is."

"Grantaire?" Enjolras turned to him.

"What? Oh. Uh, the idea is solid but I agree that the execution leaves something to be desired," Grantaire said absently, trying to figure out what the hell Enjolras was thinking. "No."

Jehan just shrugged when Enjolras demanded his opinion. "No, I guess?"

Enjolras leaned back, satisfied.

"Then again," Grantaire said, experimentally. "I do feel that it's unlike anything else we've chosen, and multiple visions is important to the whole concept of the festival as an arena where independent voices in art will be featured."

Enjolras glowered, recognizing his own words.

"Also, it's important to encourage young talents," he added piously. "Being included in our programmes would obviously be very encouraging."

Feuilly looked a little dubious at this claim. "Yeeeah, I know that director, and he's thirty-six."

"I fail to see your point." Grantaire smiled as sweetly as he could manage.

"Are you just arguing because you're an asshole or do you actually want a yes," Enjolras asked suspiciously. He'd narrowed his eyes, and looked like a more low key version of the usual furious god arrived from Mount Olympus impression he tended to do whenever somebody started talking about defunding the arts, and/or channeling all funds into commercialized, mass-market, mass-appeal sectors. Grantaire would never admit to finding it adorable.

"I want a yes," Grantaire said firmly.

*

Grantaire spent the next twenty minutes spellbound, and when the film ended, he jumped on his feet and pointed firmly at the screen. "That one. I want that one."

"Are you kidding me right now?"

Jehan squinted with one eye at the screen, where the end credits were still rolling, in an apparent attempt to gain a new perspective on things. When that didn’t help, he squinted at Grantaire instead. "That was a twenty minute long experimental music video."

"Yes! Isn't it great?" Grantaire beamed, delighted.

"I think it is time you got cut off," Feuilly said slowly. He grabbed after Grantaire's bottle, which was empty anyway so Grantaire let him take it.

"Whatever, I want that one included." Grantaire pointed insistingly.

Enjolras tilted his head back on the couch and stared blankly at the ceiling. "Goddamn it, Grantaire." Grantaire thought the odds of Enjolras cursing his name right now was high. He took no notice. If he let that bother him, they'd never show anything fun.

"It's fucking twenty minutes of using every fucking iMovie special effect on a shot of a lake! The music is a jazz improvisation!" Enjolras got on his feet in order to gesture more emphatically.

"Yes," Grantaire agreed. "Isn't it fantastic?"

"Foyer, Grantaire!"

"Perfect venue for it," Grantaire argued, doing some emphatic gesturing of his own.

Jehan, of all people, opened his mouth to protest this assertion. He didn't get a chance, as Enjolras and Grantaire started shouting at each other.

Feuilly gave Jehan a pat on the knee, before stretching. "Well, that's me done, then. I've got work in the morning, and those two can keep going for ages. Might as well call it a night."

"Could I get a ride?" Jehan asked. He gathered up an arm full of empty bottles and navigated past Enjolras and Grantaire. "I mean, if you're headed home?"

"Oh sure."

Neither Enjolras nor Grantaire noticed them leaving until Feuilly slammed the front door, and then both of them jumped in surprise. They blinked at each other, then Grantaire shrugged, and tried another tactic. "No, but, just pull up Combeferre's schedule, and you'll see I'm right. If we move Eponine's weird opera thing, we can use the black box earlier in the day. I know the timing won't be audience friendly, but it'll give us the option to show films we'd otherwise have to discard."

"It's not Eponine's weird opera," Enjolras grumbled, but he did as asked. "I don't even think it's an opera. It's a performance piece challenging the--"

"Yeah, I don't really care."

When Combeferre arrived home an hour later, shaking snow out of his hair and sighing deeply at his soaked through pants, Enjolras and Grantaire had completely destroyed his beautiful, beautiful spreadsheets, and were busy arguing about whether they could afford to feed the artists while they were there. Unfortunately, they'd kept the computer hooked up to the tv, so their argument was cut short by Combeferre having an absolute fit.


End file.
